


Infinite Distances

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Phrack, F/M, On the Way Home, phracktastic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: A phrack return home adventure/voyage tale/mystery - based anywhere in the world.Prompt: “Stop trying to fix it.” Originally written for the 2016 Phryne ficathon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flashofthefuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/gifts).



> The title comes from a Rainer Maria Rilke quote:  
> “A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.”

Jack woke slowly, his sleeping brain reluctant to leave his dreams behind. In them, he and Phryne were swaying in a hammock on a beach in the South Pacific. She was sprawled atop him, the motion of the hammock providing the friction between their joined bodies. Her warm wetness along his cock was divine, and he was on the edge of climax when he opened his eyes to see that the dream was only partly imagined. 

He lay on the bed in their stateroom on the steamship that was powering them home to Melbourne, blankets pushed down and to the side, and Phryne had her mouth wrapped around him. Warm wetness indeed. 

“God, Phryne,” Jack groaned, his hand moving to stroke from her head down the silken skin of her back before diving between her legs.

She lifted her head slightly, her hands continuing to pump at his sensitive skin, and looked up the bed toward him. 

“Good morning, Jack.” Her voice was soft, and his name escaped her on a gasp when his fingers plunged inside her, his thumb pressing at her clitoris.

Jack moaned softly, arching his hips a little, and she bent her head back to him as he worked his fingers within her. With his other hand, Jack pulled her hips up onto his chest, wanting his mouth on her. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered before his mouth was otherwise occupied. 

Phryne whimpered, the vocal vibrations traveling up his cock even as her hips surged against his mouth. She redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing as her tongue swirled around him, the hand she had wrapped around his base adding pressure. Jack applied himself to making her come, knowing that he was not going to last much longer.

When she did come, her wail, muffled as it was, was the impetus that pushed him over. The feeling of her body shaking against his chest and chin even as he stiffened with release made his orgasm all the better. Panting, he laid his head back on the pillow, his hands stroking her thighs and buttocks.

“Good morning, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled, when he could speak again. He turned his head to place a soft kiss on her inner thigh.

“Hello, Jack,” she sighed in return, her fingertips trailing over his softening penis and her head pillowed on his thigh.

“Thank you for the lovely wake-up call.”

“Well, you know, we are going ashore today. I didn’t want you to miss Kuala Lumpur.” Her voice was threaded through with laughter.

“It is lovely of you to be so considerate of me.” He chuckled a little, stroking her ass. The scent of her pleasure wrapped around him as he lay there. He breathed in deeply. “If we’re going to go, though, we should go, or we’ll be delayed again.” He trailed a finger down the seam of her sex, feeling his cock respond. 

She sighed, and the heat of her breath washed over him, drawing a small groan from his chest.

“I suppose we should get up. I’ve never been here before, and according to the guidebooks, there’s a lot to see.” She dropped a soft kiss to his cockhead and rolled off of him, laughing a little at his soft groan. 

“Come on, Jack,” she said. “Let’s go exploring!”

He shook his head as he rolled up out of bed, marveling at her. It had been close to three months since he’d made it to the docks at Southampton. He’d stayed in London for four weeks while she’d finished preparing her parents’ finances to withstand the stock market crash in America. In their time in England, they’d moved firmly into a relationship of lovers, in addition to their friendship, and it brought him more joy than he’d ever have believed possible. In the six weeks since they’d left England, they’d only become closer.

Their time together hadn’t been without its challenges—they’d both misstepped from time to time. He had needed to learn when she wanted him to help her and when she just wanted him to listen; she had needed to tell him that her many flirtations were not serious, even though they didn’t look any different from the ones he’d seen her undertake before their relationship changed. They both had needed to learn when the other needed space (more often Jack than Phryne) or the stimulation of wider company (more often Phryne than Jack), and that neither of those states was an indictment of the other’s temperament. 

Most of that push-and-pull had happened while they were still on English soil, and their happiness together had been tempered by the presence of her parents. Jack had known that Phryne had taken on the role of responsible adult when it came to her father, but he had been surprised at how her mother expected that of her as well. It was as if Margaret Fisher, unable to be led by her husband, had turned to her daughter. And Phryne had stepped up, but it had cost her. Her _joie de vivre_ was muted under the weight of her parents’ responsibilities, at least for most of the day—they’d attended party after party, and it was only during those hours (and the private hours that followed in her bed) that Jack saw the Phryne he recognized. Only this Phryne’s revelry had a tinge of the frenetic to it that he didn’t like to see—he did his best to seduce her as often as he could, as much to help bleed off that frantic energy as because he had an insatiable hunger for her.

When they’d boarded the _Queen Victoria_ , it had been as if Phryne’s mantle of responsibility had flowed away out to sea. They’d settled into their suite, met the other travelers aboard ship—introducing themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Fisher-Robinson—and within the first forty-eight hours aboard, she was his Phryne again: funny, incisively witty, and certain in a way that she hadn’t been while under her parents’ thumbs. She’d had those qualities in London, of course, but she’d also seemed more brittle beneath it all, and Jack had been glad to see her fluidity of spirit return. 

At every port they’d visited along the way—of which there were many, since he had enough leave time to allow for an extended journey home—she’d leapt into each new city with a measure of joy that he knew came from the newness of it all. She devoured each experience as if it was a feast for her soul, and she pulled him along with her. He’d seen and done things on this trip that he would never have considered without her, and he’d have been the poorer for it.

Having managed to dress themselves and find a bite to eat for breakfast, Jack and Phryne stood at the rail and watched as the ship went through the motions of docking at Port Klang. They could see several taxis parked just outside the port authority in addition to three or four rather sketchy-looking buses. He rather pitied the folks who’d be taken by bus—they would not have the freedom to change their plans, being tied to the bus’s destination. They also might be packed in like sardines, both coming and going from the city. If anything untoward happened, they’d be hard-pressed to get back to the ship before it left on the evening tide. 

Phryne had reserved them a taxi for the day, first to take them the 25 miles into Kuala Lumpur proper, and then to drive them out to the Batu Caves—a Hindu shrine that, by all accounts, was worth seeing even for someone not of that faith. It also, according to the guide books, had to be approached up a steep staircase. He glanced down at Phryne, relieved that she’d chosen a pair of sensibly flat-heeled shoes. He loved the way her legs looked in her heels, but he could only imagine how much her feet would hurt at the end of a day of walking in them.

His eyes trailed up her body, admiring her. She’d chosen a dress that was a soft green with a sheer overdress of a darker green lacy material. The skirt floated around her thighs, reaching to mid-calf, and the neckline was almost demure, stretching straight across the base of her neck from shoulder to shoulder. Only a sliver of her pale skin was visible, and the dress’s sleeves, sheer though they were, stretched down to her wrists. Modest enough that the locals would not object, but fashion-forward enough to please her. And him, though he didn’t truly care what she wore—she was always beautiful to his eyes.

“I hope you aren’t too warm in that suit, Jack,” she said, and he realized that she’d been looking at him too.

“I’ll be all right. It’s hotter in Melbourne during the summer.” 

“True. At least you left off your overcoat.” She grinned up at him. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want the locals to think I was a tourist.” He tilted his head, smiling slightly at her. 

Phryne laughed and reached to slide her hands around his bicep, hugging herself into his arm. He bent his elbow to capture her hand against his chest. He would have kissed her head, but her green hat had some large feathery thing attached to it that would have tickled his nose, so he abstained.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Fisher-Robinson?” A timid voice came from behind them, and Phryne released Jack’s arm to turn around. Jack followed her motion, turning his back to the railing. A young woman dressed in a ship’s uniform stood at attention behind them. She held a letter out toward Phryne.

“This came for you in the mail packet, ma’am,” the young woman said with a smile.

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Phryne said, taking the letter. Jack supposed she’d met the woman at one of the shipboard activities—Phryne always amazed him with her facility for names. His musings on Phryne’s knowledge of this young staffer were pushed aside when he heard her gasp.

“Jack, it’s from my mother.” Phryne turned stricken eyes up to him. 

Jack fished a coin out of his pocket to tip the young woman with—her face had fallen at Phryne’s reaction to the letter—as Phryne slid a finger under the flap. Charlotte gave him a grateful smile and moved off; Jack stepped close to Phryne, not to read over her shoulder, but to wrap an arm around her. She leaned into him as she read.

“Oh no,” she whispered, her eyes tracking side to side as she read through the letter, which Jack could see was rather sloppily written and smudged with what might have been tears. “My father, apparently, left home in a snit when he came to the end of his first month’s allowance, and hadn’t returned for a week. Mother wants me to come home and help find him.”

“You’re not going to go, surely,” he said, the words blurting from him before he could think better of them. 

“I have to, Jack! They’re my parents, and apparently incapable of acting like adults.” She lifted a hand to her forehead. “How on earth am I going to get there? Maybe the ship’s concierge can put me in touch with a local airfield—”

Jack took a deep breath, his stomach swooping unpleasantly with sudden tension. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “Phryne, think about this. How long has that letter been in transit? By the time you get back there, he may no longer be missing, but found, and you’d have made the trip for nothing.” He rubbed his hands on her upper arms. “Maybe the first step is to send a telegram and see whether he’s already home, safe and sound?”

Phryne paused, breathing heavily, the hand on her forehead dropping to the letter. She looked up at Jack, her eyebrows drawing together and her eyes narrowing as she frowned.

“I’m not trying to tell you how to handle it, you know that.” He kept his voice calm and soothing. “I’m just saying… wait. Take the day. Think things through.”

“I suppose it would be good to get an update before I go tearing off.” Her voice was tentative.

“Exactly. Let’s take the day that we’ve planned; you can send the telegram this morning, and if it comes back tonight with troubling news, we can stay on here and find a way back to London tomorrow.”

“We, Jack?” Phryne laid her hands on his chest. 

“Well… yes. I’m assuming you’d want me to come with you?” He faltered for the first time, searching her face for answers.

“Of course I would want you with me, you idiot—but I wouldn’t expect it.” She slid her arms up around his neck, pressing herself into him. “I’ve been making all of the decisions on my own for a long time, Jack Robinson. It’s… nice to have someone to talk them through with.”

“I’m here for you, Miss Fisher, wherever ‘here’ may be.” He wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her close. “I will eventually have to get back to Melbourne if I want to keep my job, but I still have time if we need it. And your aunt has championed me on that front as well, so I feel confident that my job will be waiting when I return.”

“Aunt P adores you.” Phryne smiled, small but tender. “Do you know that she warned me away from you?”

“She what?” Jack felt his eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Oh yes. She didn’t want me to break your heart.” Phryne raised up on her toes to drop a small kiss to his lips. “She knew my reputation, you see, and considered you the very best of men. She told me not to toy with you.”

“Well, I’m rather glad that you didn’t heed her, then,” he rumbled against her lips.

“I did heed her, actually.” Phryne searched his eyes. “I held myself away from you for a long time. It wasn’t until that moment at the airfield, though, that I realized that I wouldn’t be toying with you if I were to begin something. What we have isn’t a game.” 

Jack leaned in to kiss her, more deeply this time, regardless of the other passengers along the rail.

“Not a game at all,” he whispered when he broke the kiss. “But it certainly is fun.”

Phryne’s laugh was exactly what he wanted to hear, and he smiled in response.

“All right then,” she said. “Let’s go send a telegram to my mother, and then we’ll take our day in Malaysia.”


	2. Chapter 2

The taxi ride into the city proper was terrifying. The driver’s idea of right-of-way was almost worse than Miss Fisher’s, to Jack’s mind. Even Phryne looked a little green by the time they alighted at the railway station. They’d planned to spend a few hours shopping around Merdeka Square, and have lunch before heading out to the Batu Caves.

They arranged—a little reluctantly—to meet the taxi in a few hours, and set out on foot. Phryne was quieter than usual, Jack thought, but she seemed to have put the letter from her mother out of her mind, for the most part.

They’d sent the telegram, short and sweet:

LETTER RECEIVED -STOP- IS HE HOME -QUERY- PLEASE RESPOND ASAP LEAVING MALAY TONIGHT -STOP- P

Phryne had seemed lighter with just that bit of action taken, and he had hopes that he could convince her not to head back to London. Her parents’ bad behavior was not her responsibility, after all—they were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. 

Jack did his best to focus on the sights as they wandered the city. Phryne ducked into what seemed like every shopfront, purchasing Chinese silks and locally made souvenirs. She had her purchases bundled up and sent back to the ship—shop after shop—until finally they decided to stop for lunch.

“This place looks good, Jack!” Phryne tugged on his hand, pulling him into a small, dingy restaurant. She smiled at the proprietor and they were ushered to one of the four tiny tables that sat inside. The scents were divine, and Jack’s stomach growled.

Phryne ordered them each _nasi lemak_ , a local dish that she’d obviously researched, and they settled in to wait, talking about whatever came to mind as they waited for their lunch. They sat with their hands on the table, Jack’s palm up and Phryne’s lying atop it; he used a fingertip to draw small designs on her palm, drawing a sound of pleasure from her that was almost a purr.

When their food arrived—steamed rice that had been soaked in coconut cream, served with a hard-boiled egg, a piece of fried fish, cucumber slices, peanuts, and small fried anchovies, along with a pile of what looked like pickled vegetables—they both tucked in. The pickled vegetables were spicy, and both of them laughed as they followed it with a forkful of the creamy rice. 

Finishing up, they sat quietly for the last few minutes before they needed to go and meet the taxi driver for their afternoon’s adventure. They’d been served a green tea, and although it didn’t compare to the tea they were used to, both of them still savored it along with the lingering flavors of their lunch.

“Jack,” she started, in one lull in the conversation.

“Mmm?” he responded, as he lifted his teacup to his mouth.

“What will I do if my father hasn’t been found?”

“Well,” Jack said quietly, “I think that would be a reason to find a way back to London. If he’s not sulking or hiding, he might actually need your help.”

She nodded. “But if he has been found, and he’s back home, you think I should keep heading for Melbourne?”

“I think…” he said slowly, setting his cup down and leaning forward, “that’s a decision that you’ll have to make for yourself.”

“Oh, come on, Jack.” She set her own cup down and fixed him with a look that was half stern, half pleading. “I know that you have an opinion.”

“Of course I have an opinion, but I don’t know that my opinion has much, if any, place in this discussion.” Jack looked at her, knowing that his heart was in his eyes, and hoping that she could feel it. “You are more than capable of thinking this through.”

She looked down, trailing a finger around the rim of her cup. “I find that I am… less objective when it comes to my parents than I am about any of our cases.”

“That’s to be expected, don’t you think?”

“I don’t _want_ to go back to England, Jack!” This truth burst from her, and she rolled her lips inward as if to seal them, her eyes widening. 

He nodded. “Do you feel that you have to?” 

“Yes! Perhaps? Oh, I don’t know!” She sat back in her chair, her exasperation plain in her crossed arms. Huffing out a sigh, she dropped her arms to her lap and leaned toward him, her eyes piercing. “Please tell me what you think, Jack.” Her voice was soft and sincere, and he nodded before taking the last drink of his tea.

“From the outside—remember, I am not invested the way that you are—it seems to me that as much as you’d like to put your parents’ lives onto a less… erratic track, you need to remember that you can’t fix them. You can do your best to mitigate the… problems they create, but it won’t fix their underlying damage.” He clenched his jaw, thinking of Henry and Margaret, and how they did their best to manipulate Phryne into doing what they wanted, regardless of what she wanted. “Only they can do that. And it’s not good for you to continually beat your head against that brick wall.”

“But they’re my _parents_ , Jack!” The words were heated, and she laid her palms flat on the table in front of her as she leaned in even more. “I can’t just… walk away when they’re in trouble!”

“Why not? They’re adults.” Jack raised his eyebrows and looked at her. Phryne looked as if she was going to argue, and Jack went on.

“You asked me for my opinion, and I’m giving it to you. When was the last time _they_ dropped everything when _you_ were in trouble?”

Phryne’s mouth closed with a click of her teeth. He could see that the question—or its answer, which he thought was likely _never_ —had hit her like a slap, and he reached out to cover her hands with his.

His voice gentle, he continued. “Phryne, love, let’s look at this another way.” He blew out a breath. “Assuming that your father is home and safe, what would you do if you were to go back to London? What does he want from you?”

“He wants me to adjust the estate trust to give him more spending money, and the tenants and lands can go hang.” Phryne said, her tone acerbic.

“Right. And yet you spent weeks, if not months, setting that trust up precisely so that your father’s profligate spending couldn’t jeopardize the estate.”

“I did.” She nodded her head, and then shook it. “And if I were to go back to London, I wouldn’t want to do that. We’d just end up fighting.”

“Exactly. All it would accomplish is to put you right back into that… that toxic atmosphere, where each of them comes to you to solve their problems rather than solving them themselves.”

Phryne nodded, and turned her hands palm up under his so that she could grasp his fingers. Her words came slowly, each one placed carefully as if she was planning moves on a draughts board. “I need to be away from them to stay out of their day-to-day dramatics. That’s why I moved to Melbourne in the first place.” She met his eyes, raising one eyebrow. “I’ll admit, if I’d had any idea about the sheer attractiveness of the Victoria Police Force, I might have gone sooner.” 

Jack flashed a smile at her, and she returned it, her own smile wry.

“You’re right, Jack. It is far easier to stay a disinterested third party when I’m far, far away.” She shook her head again with a sigh. “How can you stay so calm about this? It sends me frantic.”

“Well, they’re not my parents,” Jack said with a shrug.

“True.” She slanted him a look. “That would be awkward, wouldn’t it?”

He tilted his head at her and smirked. “We’d certainly be spending our vacation differently, wouldn’t we?”

Phryne laughed, throwing her head back with mirth. “We would, indeed.”

“Shall we go climb some stairs, Miss Fisher?” Jack stood and held out a hand to help her up, flashing a small smile at the restaurant’s proprietor, who had looked over at them when Phryne’s laugh had rung out.

She laid her hand in his and stood. “Let’s do, Jack. And when we get back to the ship, we’ll deal with whatever answer my mother has deigned to send.” 

“We, Phryne?” He held out his arm and she wrapped her hand around his bicep as they ventured back out onto the street.

“Well… yes, Jack. You’re my partner. Isn’t helping each other what partners do?” She laid her head briefly against his shoulder, and he felt his heart shudder with love for this woman.

“It is,” he murmured. “It really is.”


	3. Chapter 3

By the time they returned to the ship, they were tired from climbing the stairs at the Batu Caves—all 272 of them—and drained from the rather crazed ride in their taxi, since the driver hadn’t gotten any better at driving as the day went on. They had a little more than an hour before dinner, and about two hours before the tide that would carry them out toward their next port. 

They stopped at the bursar’s desk to see if a telegram had come. There were three, in point of fact: One from Margaret for Phryne, and two from Henry—one to Phryne and one to Jack. Raising her eyebrows at Jack, Phryne collected all of them, and they headed to their cabin. Once there, Phryne laid the telegrams on the coffee table in their sitting room, beside a stack of brown-paper-wrapped packages—likely Phryne’s morning purchases.

“I think I’ll wash up before I read those.” She looked at Jack, who nodded. “A quick shower will do the trick.” 

“I’ll go when you’re finished,” he said. Although he was tempted, they’d tried showering together on one of their first days aboard, to hilarious results, given the small size of the shower enclosure. Since then, they’d confined their lovemaking to the other surfaces of their suite.

She stepped close to kiss him softly, then moved off into the bedroom, unpinning her hat as she went. Jack followed, removing his jacket and waistcoat and hanging them up in the small wardrobe. He slipped out of his shoes and socks, enjoying the feeling of being barefoot. 

“Would you mind, darling?” Phryne came over to him, indicating the hook and buttons running the back of her dress, and Jack obligingly opened them, fumbling a little at first.

“My hands are too big for this,” he grumbled, but he stroked a finger down the revealed skin of her spine once the buttons were undone.

“Mmm, but perfectly sized for other things,” Phryne murmured, sending him a smirking glance as she moved behind the dressing screen.

He smiled in return as he removed his cufflinks and was loosening his tie when she emerged, wrapped in a robe of scarlet red satin embroidered with a magnificent phoenix. She came toward him, her bare feet peeking from beneath her hem, the wrapped front showing a flash of leg with each stride. Stopping in front of him, she set her hands to his shirt buttons, undoing them swiftly.

“One good turn deserves another,” she said softly. 

Jack smiled at her as he pulled the braces off his shoulders, letting them hang loose around his hips. When she reached the bottom of his buttons, she laid her hand in the middle of his chest, her fingers rubbing his skin above the neckline of his undershirt, before moving past him to the bathing chamber adjoining their suite. A moment later, he heard the water running. Jack pulled off his shirt and set it out to be laundered, enjoying the way his body cooled without all of his layers.

The good news, he thought, making his way back out to the sitting room, was that Henry appeared to be all right. He picked up the telegram addressed to him and took a seat on the sofa to open it. Reading it through, he snorted softly.

MAN TO MAN -STOP- TELL P THAT EXPENSES ARE HIGH -STOP- MUST HAVE MORE FLEXIBILITY IN SPENDING -STOP- A MAN HAS NEEDS -STOP- HF

Jack shook his head. If Henry Fisher thought that Jack would actually advance his cause with Phryne, he was much mistaken. Jack was much more likely to encourage her to cut him off entirely.

He laid the telegram down beside the unopened ones and moved back into the bedroom. Shucking the last of his clothing and wrapping himself in the deep blue jacquard robe that Phryne had chosen for him during their stop in Spain, he knocked lightly on the door to the bath.

“Almost finished, Jack!” Phryne’s voice came through the door clearly, and true to her word, a moment later, she emerged, her hair wrapped in a towel and her robe tied snugly around her waist.

He caught her around the waist and buried his nose in her neck. He loved the way she smelled immediately after a shower, fresh and clean and _Phryne_.

“Jack!” Her laughing protest held no heat; she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He hummed his pleasure, and she turned her head to nibble on his ear. At her touch, he lifted his head and kissed her, long and slow, his hands stroking over the satin of her dressing gown. A moment later, he reluctantly broke away. 

“I’ll never get in the shower if we keep this up.” Giving her another squeeze, he stepped away from her and moved to the bathroom door.

“Oh,” he said, looking back. She still stood where he’d left her, watching him go. “I opened the telegram your father sent to me. I left it on the table.” He chuckled softly at the sneer that touched her mouth. “Don’t worry, I promise not to follow his instructions.”

She stuck out her tongue at him, raising a hand to hold the towel around her hair in place, and turned to the sitting room doorway. Jack hesitated, wondering whether he should stay in case she needed his support, then shook his head and continued on. She knew where to find him, and she wouldn’t thank him for hovering. He only hoped that the medium provided by a telegram would be insufficient to activate her parental guilt triggers.

When Jack emerged from the bath, his hair freshly pomaded and his chin closely shaven, Phryne was back in the bedroom, behind the screen. Judging by the irritated thumping down of bottles and brushes, she’d read the telegrams and they were just as _parental_ as he’d anticipated.

“Everything all right?” He moved to his wardrobe as he spoke, opening the doors and taking out the soft woolen tuxedo within. The serviceable dinner suit he’d worn for his trip to London had been replaced without comment before they boarded in Southampton, and he rather liked the new suit. Wearing it, he understood why Phryne liked to surround herself in quality fabric and detailing. Besides, she seemed to enjoy seeing him in it. His lips quirked. She also seemed to enjoy getting him out of it.

“Well, both of those telegrams were the same in essentials—the message was that my father’s allowance was far too small, and I should raise it. It’s as if they didn’t listen at all when I explained how much money was needed to run the estate!” He could hear the irritation in her voice.

“They probably didn’t listen,” he said mildly. “I’d imagine they were certain that the money would just be there, and that you could be persuaded to change whatever arrangements you’d made if the strictures felt too severe.”

“I know. It’s just maddening. My father was part of the discussions with the lawyer about the level of funding the estate needed to remain in production. He had his chance to object.” On those words, she stepped out from behind the screen, doing up the sparkling buttons that ran down one side of her dress.

Jack caught his breath. Her dress was one he hadn’t seen before—her wardrobe was immense—and it was stunning. Liquid silver silk dipped in a low V at her neckline and skimmed her body to midthigh, where it opened up into a bias-cut skirt that swirled with her every movement. Her arms were bare but for dangling mock sleeves made of strands of silver beadwork that ended in shimmering iridescent teardrops of cut glass. She’d fastened similar silver teardrops to her ears that swung below the ends of her hair, catching the light with her every movement. A single beadwork strand dangled from the center of the neckline’s V, in the valley between her breasts.

“Phryne,” he said, unable to manage more than her name.

Her face cleared of its slightly petulant pout as she registered his reaction, and she sauntered up to him, turning in a small circle to show him the back with its deep V and the three strands of silver and glass that crossed her naked back, each one with a teardrop dangling below its center that accented the line of her spine. She hadn’t yet done her makeup for the evening, and the contrast of her naked face and that gown nearly stopped his heart.

“Do you like it, Jack?” She stepped close, her hands floating up to rest on the satin lapels of his dressing gown, her fingers curling around the edges.

Jack reached for the banter that so defined the way the two of them spoke to each other, but came up empty. He settled for the truth instead. 

“I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.” His voice was suddenly hoarse, and he reached one-handed to toy with the beadwork at her shoulder; his other hand, holding his tuxedo, drooped.

Her expression changed from her usual insouciant seduction to solemn and tender. 

“If it wasn’t for how this dress will wrinkle, I’d seduce you before you get into that tuxedo, inspector.” Her voice was low and she lifted a hand to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips.

“I suppose I’ll have the pleasure of looking at you all evening, then.” He leaned toward her, ghosting his lips across hers in a sweet kiss. “And I will concentrate on the fact that although every man and likely many of the women in the dining room tonight will be imagining what it would be like to get you out of that dress, I’ll be the lucky recipient of your seduction.” He brushed his lips over hers, back and forth, enjoying the feeling of her breath gusting against his mouth.

“Jack,” his name was a whisper, and he felt her hands tighten on his lapels.

He kissed her again, harder this time, but still with a soft kind of care. When they broke apart, his hand had come to rest on her satin-covered derriere. He groaned.

“You aren’t wearing underthings, are you?”

She huffed out a small laugh, dropping from her toes to stand in front of him as she smoothed his crumpled collar.

“Well of course not,” she said, her smile flashing at him. “They’d ruin the line of my gown.” With a light pat to his chest, she moved away toward the small vanity in the corner of the room and met his eyes in the mirror as she prepared to make up her face.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Jack’s tone was conversational, but he knew that his body betrayed just how much he desired her in that moment.

“Get dressed, Jack,” she murmured, as she powdered her nose, her smirk evident, as was the wicked twinkle in her eyes. “I started a letter to my parents while you showered; I’ll finish it, and we can make the most of our evening.”

“So are we going back to London?”

“Not at this time, no,” she said quietly. “My father opted not to argue about the allowance I set for him. He signed the papers that established the trust for the estate, and those that spelled out how much he’d have access to.” She shook her head. “They won’t starve. He’ll just have to bet more carefully at the races going forward.”

Jack nodded solemnly. He had no doubt that Phryne’s letter home would spell all of this out, and more. 

“All right, then,” was all he said. “I’ll leave you to it.” Lifting his tuxedo in a sort of mock salute, he turned toward the dressing area.

“Jack?”

He turned to look back at her, his eyebrows quirking in inquiry. She’d twisted on the vanity chair to look at him, her eyes made up but her mouth still naked.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, knowing that she wasn’t just talking about the compliments on her appearance. With a quick wave, he disappeared into the dressing area.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner was, as had become the expectation on this ship, divine. Jack devoured his prime rib and potatoes, and Phryne happily dug into her mushroom risotto. Their table companions were a mixture of young and old, but all were adventurous—all of them traveled for the love of it as much as to get from one place to another, so their conversation was lively and interesting. Jack had been surprised at how much he’d enjoyed the journey this time. 

His trip to meet Phryne in London had been on a much less luxurious liner, to be sure, but as a single man, he’d had no real chance for associations such as these. He’d also been so anxious about what his reception would be once he arrived at his destination that he hadn’t really tried to form friendships, nor had he taken any of the several offers of a night of pleasure from the single—and occasionally not single—women on board. Not because he was prudish, though he still had issues with adultery that would have stopped him from considering the latter kind, but because his head and heart had been so full of Phryne and the possibilities of what lay between them that he hadn’t had room for anyone else.

He sat back in his chair, meal finished, and stretched an arm across the back of her chair. She leaned forward, laughing with one of the young men in their group, a man whom Jack knew would love to spend more than just conversation at table with Phryne. Six months ago, she might have taken that man back to her cabin and given him what he so desired, but Jack had no worries that she was regretting the fact that she already had a man in her quarters tonight. Her hand rested on his knee under the table, and she would occasionally glance at him, knowing that he would be attending to the conversation, even if he wasn’t participating.

As he listened, he studied her—she’d added a silver headband to her ensemble, a simple braided band adorned with silver-and-diamond flowers that nestled fetchingly against her jetty hair, and she’d slicked her mouth with ruby red. He knew that his face as he watched her must reflect his feelings. His heart and mind were still full of Phryne and possibilities, both the ones that they’d already acted on and the ones that were to come. He couldn’t wait to see what would come. Impulsively, he leaned toward her to whisper in her ear.

“Save me the first dance tonight?” He saw a small shiver run down her naked back, and he lifted a hand to toy with the dangling teardrop beads that lay along her spine.

She smiled at him, nodding wordlessly before turning back to her conversation. He leaned back again, content to listen to her voice and let his anticipation build, both for the promised dance and for the dance they’d commence in their cabin later on. 

When the conversation turned away from anything Jack had an opinion on, his mind wandered. He wondered when dessert would be served to their table—it looked like tonight’s confection was some sort of individual chocolate bombe, its rounded shape unmistakable. He shifted, stretching his legs, and Phryne’s hand on his knee slid a little higher. His eyes on her, he wondered how Phryne’s parents would react to her response letter. She had indeed finished it before they’d left their cabin for dinner, and she’d passed it off to be included in the final mail packet before the ship left Port Klang. He hadn’t read it, but her relief at having written it was evident, and she sparkled with wit and laughter. He shook his head lightly. He loved her in every aspect, happy or sad, in frenetic motion or quiet repose, but her centered confidence was the thing about her that called most to him. And that part of her was here tonight, in spades.

Shifting his hand down behind her, he set it against the small of her back, half resting on the silk of her dress, his thumb sweeping over her warm satiny skin. He heard a tiny hitch in her breathing before she continued on with her conversation, and her hand, now on his thigh, squeezed lightly. With a small smirk, he stroked her skin with first his fingertips and then the backs of his fingers, enjoying the texture of her. He sat forward a little to obscure his motions and slid the tips of his fingers under the edge of her dress. He stayed to the sides at first, but when her fingers tightened more against his leg, he swept his fingers down and in to trace the dimples at the tops of her buttocks. He felt Phryne’s fingernails bite into his leg as he stroked a fingertip into the crease of her bottom, then back out to scrape his nails up her backbone.

Phryne looked over at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. He met her eyes blandly and made the same motion again. He saw the arousal flare in her eyes, and watched her eyebrow rise. Her hand on his leg slid upward to nudge at his groin, her fingers tucked into the crease high on his thigh. He swallowed and paused. This was a potentially embarrassing game for the both of them, and though he very much wanted Phryne to be aching and eager once they reached their cabin, he didn’t want either of them to cause a scandal. He was slightly relieved when the waitstaff made the decision for him by serving dessert. Jack withdrew his hand from her back into his own lap, capturing hers and bringing it to his mouth.

She leaned close and laid her cheek to his, whispering, “Keep that up and our first dance tonight will be a private one, Jack Robinson.”

“You’re unlikely to hear me object to that, love,” he responded, smiling slightly. “I’ve wanted to get you out of that dress since the moment I saw you in it.”

Phryne pulled her face away, her slumberous gaze glancing to his lips, then up to meet his eyes. Raising a hand to his cheek, she rubbed her thumb there, presumably removing a lipstick smudge. Her lips curved.

“Eat your dessert, inspector,” she murmured. “I want to dance in this dress before you dance me out of it.”

He blinked at her, long and slow, knowing that she could see his approval and his desire in his eyes. With a final caress to his cheek, Phryne turned her attention to the confection that had been placed in front of her, and Jack did the same. He knew the next hour or two would be a test of his willpower and hers, and the end result would be all the sweeter for it.

As the evening wore on, he basked in the glow of her, enjoying the anticipation of what was to come. Whether he was dancing with her himself or watching her dance with other men, his desire for her built throughout the evening. The shifting of the silver silk over Phryne’s body had been mesmerizing on the dance floor, with the beadwork flashing even in the low light. After Jack led her out for the first time, their male table partners had each asked her to dance, and then the parade of men from all over the ship had begun. She danced with the ship’s captain and a good half-dozen men Jack had never met, her body lithe and beautiful, her laughter contagious.

He danced, too, taking his turn on the floor with each of the women in their dinner group, but as was his wont in crowds like this one, he preferred to watch from the sidelines. Phryne was dazzling in a company like this, where she could charm and flirt and dance; he knew that she’d be energized by it all in a way that he never was. 

Throughout the evening, she came back to sit with him occasionally, taking a moment to rest and have a cool drink. She would drop down, usually breathless, onto the bench of the banquette they’d claimed for their group of friends. Each time, she sat close, resting her hand on his thigh and laughing into his eyes. Sometimes, he would whisper into her ear just because he knew that it pleased her. At first, his messages were wry speculations about her dance partners or compliments on her dancing technique, but as the evening wore on, they became more and more explicit, until finally she decided she’d had enough dancing.

“I have been thinking about how I will drop to my knees, duck my head under that silver silk, and use my mouth on you.” He’d growled as she sheltered under his arm, her scent rising around him—French perfume and clean sweat, with notes of the gin martinis she’d been drinking and that essence of herself that he found utterly alluring. “It’s going to be terribly handy that you have no knickers on, because there’ll be no barrier to my tongue or my fingers.”

“God, Jack,” she’d moaned quietly. She grasped his hand and downed her latest martini. “Dance with me here one last time, then, darling.”

He’d nodded and finished his own drink, sliding out of the banquette and bidding their table mates a good night before following her to the dance floor. When the strains of a waltz began, he smiled at her obvious delight and took her right hand in his left, the backs of his fingers stroking her palm as he adjusted her hand in his. She laid her left hand on his shoulder and he set his right hand on her waist, guiding her into the dance.

As they danced, an opening cleared around them, giving them room to move through the elegant motions of the waltz just as they had done in the small ballroom at the Grand Hotel all those months before. They’d waltzed since then, of course, and every time, Phryne captured all of Jack’s attention as they moved through the steps of the dance. Her eyes stayed on his as well, her breath quickening, her steps light and easy but imbued somehow with a gravity that never failed to move him. 

When the music ended, they were facing each other, their eyes locked, and Jack pressed a kiss to the back of her left hand, which was again clasped in his. He jumped a little at the smattering of applause, and looked around in surprise. The circle of floor around them had grown and the other dancers had stopped to watch them—he knew what a vision Phryne was on the dance floor, and he smiled down at her. With a smile of her own, she spun out from him, dropping into a small curtsy even as he bowed to their audience. Laughing, they waved and made their way off the dance floor.

When the room’s attention had left them, Phryne took Jack’s hand and hurried out the closest door. Glancing back at him, she grinned as if they were doing something illicit—which, he supposed, they were—and led him as quickly as she could manage through the twisting halls and stairways to their suite.


	5. Chapter 5

Leaving the club room, Jack followed Phryne down toward the ship’s luxury suites and watched the light catch on the beadwork of her dress. She stopped at their suite, laying a palm against the wall beside the entryway, and turned to face Jack. Taking out the key, Jack unlocked the door, pushing it open so that Phryne could precede him inside. She stepped close, brushing her body against his, her eyes lifting coyly to dare him to object. He wouldn’t.

He hadn’t let go of her hand as she passed him, and he closed the door behind them and used that hand to pull her back. His other hand burrowed into her hair as his mouth came down on hers. He kissed her with all of the desire that he was feeling, and he was pleased to feel that her urgency matched his. Her tongue was the first to breach the distance between them, and he took it eagerly in, stroking it with his own as he backed her into the suite. In a few steps, he had her standing in front of one of the chairs—reminiscent of the chairs in her parlor at Wardlow, he’d always thought—and when her knees hit the seat, he gave her a small push. She squeaked in surprise, but sat down. Her hair, mussed from his fingers, and her lipstick, smeared from his mouth, were the only bits of her that weren’t pristine, and the sight of her disarray—and the knowledge that it was his doing—aroused him even more.

“Jack?” She rested her hands on the arms of the chair, looking up at him in confusion.

He met her eyes and knelt, his hands going to her ankles beneath the silver silk of her dress. “I told you that I wanted my mouth on you,” he said, his voice rumbling through his lungs. “Here. I want you here.”

Phryne’s eyes lit with excitement, and she nodded, relaxing her leg muscles. She lifted one hand to slide her fingers into his hair, scraping his scalp lightly with her fingernails. She’d caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and Jack’s mouth quirked in a tiny smirk at the sight. 

Glancing away, Jack released the fastenings on her shoes, then held her gaze as he set his hands to the silken skin of her calves. She wore no stockings beneath her floor-length gown—he imagined the garter belt would have had the same deleterious effect on the lines of her dress as the rest of her underthings—and he felt his nostrils flare with arousal. His hands continued to stroke up her legs, gently gathering her skirts above his wrists as he went. 

When he reached her thighs, his eyes left hers to look down at what he’d uncovered. Pushing her knees apart, he dipped his head and laid a kiss to the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Breathing deeply, he inhaled the scent of her arousal—sweeter than the chocolate bombe they’d eaten for dessert and far more enticing. Pushing his hands up inside her dress, he cupped her buttocks, pulling her hips to the edge of the chair as he trailed his lips and tongue up first one thigh, and then the other. Pausing, he smiled at the streaks of red lipstick he’d left behind—it must be smeared on his face too.

“ _Jack_.” Phryne said his name like a plea, her hand tightening in his hair, and Jack glanced up. She watched him, one hand clenched around the armrest, her thighs lolling open. He nodded, and bent his head to his work.

He groaned at the first taste of her, dripping with arousal, and heard her groan as well. Pushing at one thigh, he raised it to hang over the arm of the chair, opening her to him farther. With a moan, Phryne leaned back, both of her hands in his hair now. Jack played her flesh, first using the flat of his tongue in long, slow swipes outside and then inside her nether lips; sliding his thumbs alongside his mouth, he opened her up for his lips and tongue. Using the sounds she made as a guide, he worked her clit, sipping at it with pursed lips and batting at it with the tip of his tongue. He slid his thumbs in to stroke the entrance to her body, dipping first one, then the other, inside before pulling them away and replacing them with his tongue. 

When Phryne’s hips could not stay still, he wrapped an arm around to anchor her, bringing his fingertips to her clit as he fucked her with his tongue. He lost track of time as he feasted on her, his own body’s needs forgotten in the bliss of flavor and sensation. When she wailed and stiffened against him, it was almost a shock, but he collected himself and helped her ride out the waves of pleasure with small strokes of his fingers and tongue.

He raised his head when her shaking subsided and shifted back on his heels as her hands fell limply out of his hair. She was panting, her chest rising and falling, her nipples clearly outlined by the silk of her gown. 

“Let’s get you out of this, shall we?” He hardly recognized his voice, it was so guttural, and he rose to his feet and held out his hands to her.

She took one, sitting up and setting both feet flat on the floor, and stood to press her body against his. Her free hand cupped his groin and the rock-hard cock that was tenting his trousers.

“We should get you out of this as well, darling. As handsome as you are in this tuxedo, I find that I want your skin against mine.” She stroked and squeezed him through the soft wool, and Jack moaned, dropping to cover her mouth with his. Her kiss was avid, her tongue sweeping his lips and chin—cleaning off the residue of herself, he realized, and the thought made him moan again.

With a grunt, he bent his knees and scooped her up, dislodging her hand from his cock and surprising a laugh out of her.

“If you keep that up,” he murmured, “neither of us will be naked any time soon.”

“Mmm,” she responded, trailing her mouth along the tendons of his throat as she undid his bowtie and loosened his collar, dropping his onyx-and-silver shirt studs into the breast pocket of his jacket as she removed them. “Well, I suppose, if you want to be a stickler about it…”

He huffed out a laugh. “Not so much a stickler, Miss Fisher, as knowing my own limits.”

“Limits, Jack?” He could feel her smile against his neck. “I don’t believe in limits, you know that.”

Jack stepped into the bedroom and stopped beside their wide bed to let her feet slide to the floor, closing his eyes momentarily at the frisson of lust that swept through him when she fastened her mouth to the side of his throat and began to suck.

“Would you rather be naked or test my limits? Because I can assure you, the latter will preclude the former.”

In answer, she snaked a hand down his body to wrap around his cock again, rubbing its wide head through the fabric. Jack froze, a soft expletive leaving his lips as her hand pumped him once, then twice. At the third pass of her hand, his control broke, and he spun her around, laying her face down on the bed, one hand between her shoulder blades and the other at his trouser fastenings. 

Phryne laughed softly and stretched her arms to grasp the duvet, raising her bottom toward him and sliding her feet slightly farther apart. When his cock sprang loose, Jack grasped it in one hand, trying to keep himself from coming immediately. He saw Phryne watching, and shook his head. Ordinarily, he would tease her by teasing himself—she loved to watch him wank, they’d discovered—but not this time. He was too close. He slid the hand on her back down, gathering up the fabric of her skirt in short tugs. His hands shook a little as he threw each handful of cloth up and over her back; in one handful, he discovered the dark wet patch that illustrated her arousal, and he smiled a little grimly. 

When her ass was bared, Jack slid his hand between her legs, his fingers slipping in the slickness of her as he pushed two inside her, then out again to circle her clit. She moaned at the sensation, and he moved to notch his cock at her opening, then stopped.

“Oh fuck, Phryne, please tell me your device is in place?” The question was a growl of need, and he saw gooseflesh ripple up over her thighs.

“It is, it is,” she panted, rising on her toes as if to pull him inside her body by will alone. “Please, Jack, I want you in me!”

With a wordless groan, Jack obliged, pushing slowly into her body. He was, as always, conscious of the thickness of his girth, and he did his best to give her time to adjust to him, but once he’d managed to penetrate the wet heat of her body, he could no longer hold back. He pulled out, then slammed himself home again, his hands moving to hold her hips. His animalistic groan echoed through the bedroom, and Phryne’s keen of pleasure twined about it like a vine. Through half-closed eyes, he saw her hands, white-knuckled, gripping the coverlet; her mouth was open in a renewed wail that might have begun as his name.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh competed with the huffing of their breath, and the scent of their arousal and sweat rose around them. Jack closed his eyes completely, concentrating on the feeling of her body closing around him and the contrast of the slightly cool air of the room when he withdrew. He could feel his orgasm building, a pressure at the base of his spine that spread, tingling, to his scrotum.

A rustle of cloth had him opening his eyes, and he watched as Phryne, her own eyes almost shut, burrowed a hand under her hips, trying to get at her clit. The silk of her dress blocked her access, though, and Jack bent forward, running his hand around her hip to assist. He pressed two fingers to her clit, sliding them to either side of the hardened nubbin and squeezing them lightly together. Phryne arched, her bottom pushing into him as she swiveled her hips against the counterpoint of his fingers and his cock. Jack moved his other hand up and under her chest, finding her nipple and pinching it lightly as he continued to thrust strongly.

The feeling of her cloth-covered breast in one hand, her slick clit in the other, and her pussy surrounding him abruptly came to a peak and Jack could no longer hold himself back. He laid his head on her back, muffling his shout of release against her skin. As if from a distance, he heard Phryne’s soft scream as his climax triggered hers; the pulses of her release against his still-spasming cock prolonged his pleasure, leaving him shuddering and panting.

Breathing hard, he finally lifted himself off of her, standing on wobbly legs. He surveyed her disarray—skirt hiked above her waist, legs spread, chest heaving as she caught her breath, and satisfied smile on her lips. He shook his head. Beautiful.

Leaning forward, he reached to begin undoing the buttons down her side. She murmured a protest, and he chuckled.

“Let’s get you out of this contraption and under the covers, love.”

“You too.” Her voice was soft and slightly slurred. She was half asleep already.

“Yes, me too,” he crooned. 

He rolled her over and pulled her upright before tugging the dress up and over her head. When he’d released her, she flopped back onto the covers, breasts bouncing. Grinning, he laid her dress over the top of a chair, carefully checking that the beads didn’t catch on anything, then stripped out of his tuxedo. 

Nude, he moved toward the bed, scooping her up again to place her under the covers, then rounding the bed to climb in on the other side. Phryne rolled toward him, laying her head on his chest and snuggling close, one leg lifting to cross between his.

He wrapped his arms around her, dropping a kiss to her head—and snorting when he realized she still wore her silver-and-diamond headband. He pulled it carefully from her hair, and then reached to unhook her earrings, stretching to set all of them on the table beside the bed. 

With a sigh, he settled down beside her, his tired body registering the movement of the ship as an indistinct vibration punctuated by the occasional swell. After so many weeks, he found it soothing—he imagined that he’d have trouble getting used to the stillness of dry land once they’d finally made it home. He wondered vaguely how long it would take Phryne’s letter to reach her parents, and what their outrage over her refusals would lead them to do. He supposed that would be a problem for another day. If he had his way, he’d be by her side, whatever the outcome.

And for now, all was at peace. The ship was steaming them toward Melbourne, and they were together in every sense. He closed his eyes, breathing Phryne in, her deep breaths stroking his skin as surely as her hands could. He had more in this moment than he’d ever hoped for and, smiling, he drifted into a contented sleep.


End file.
